Last Night in the City
by Illwynd
Summary: Regarding Boromir's last night in Minas Tirith.


Title: Last Night in the City  
Author: illwynd  
Disclaimer: Not mine. All hail Tolkien!  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Boromir's last night in Minas Tirith  
Characters: Boromir, Faramir, a little bit of Denethor  
Notes: Mostly bookverse, but you'll notice a movieverse element or two. My little joke, there. And, there might be more added to this one later… just one other chapter, but I'm still tweaking it.

_I can only hope I am doing the right thing. I feel I am. I must be._

"Are you sure that is a wise choice?" said a voice from the doorway as if in answer to his thoughts. Startled, Boromir snapped a glance over his shoulder towards the source, though he already knew who had spoken.

Faramir was leaning against the frame of the door with an unreadable expression on his face and gesturing towards the folded tunic in his brother's hand.

"That," Faramir said in answer to his look of confusion. "Are you sure it is a wise choice for your journey?" To this, Boromir just shrugged. He looked down at the red tunic he was about to lay in his pack. Why would it not be a wise choice? He was to travel as an envoy of Gondor, and the garment with its fine weave and gold wirework would be appropriate as a show of status. As if reading his mind, Faramir said "You are likely to meet danger on the road. You may meet some who think a Captain of Gondor would make a wonderfully advantageous prisoner."

"Brother, I have never been and will never be captured. Anyone who tried would get more than he bargained for," Boromir answered, trying to force some humor into his voice but not quite succeeding. He avoided Faramir's glance, looking intently down at the pack half-filled on his bed.

"Still, red is too visible. Even if any rogues you meet care nothing for status, you might want to be able to avoid being seen," Faramir countered.

Boromir sighed and removed the tunic from his pack. Faramir was right, and he couldn't deny it. Boromir didn't like anything that felt devious, and although he knew well the value of concealment and surprise in military matters, this felt more personal, and it irked him. Still, he had no way of knowing what he might meet. It was better to prepare for the worst, and speaking of preparation he would have little enough space in his pack for necessities to be able to justify bringing a tunic he could not wear until the end of his road. He sighed again and replaced the red tunic with a plain black one, and another of dark forest green, equally unadorned, one thick and warm, the other lighter for warm weather. The clothes he had already placed in the pack were of dark colors, fortunately, as was his fur-lined cloak, so those would all meet with Faramir's approval, he thought wryly, and so save him from having to re-pack.

Faramir still stood silently at the door. Boromir had not expected his brother to seek him out tonight, though perhaps he should have. Early tomorrow, at first light, he would be gone on his quest to follow the dream they had shared. He fussed with the placement of the things in the pack for a moment, then sat down wearily and looked at Faramir.

"Have you come to try to change my mind again, little brother?" He said.

"No," said Faramir, with a small smile. "I know you too well for that. If I have not already convinced you, I never will."

"Then why have you come?" Boromir's words came out brusque and harsh. All that day there had been a tension between them. He had ridden hastily back to the White City only a day after having left, then burst into his father's hall where he knew he would find his father and assorted counselors, and Faramir laying out his plan for the journey that must be made. He had demanded to take the journey upon himself. He had known that Faramir would not be pleased with him, to put it mildly, but it had been worse than he expected. After his father and the counselors had decided in Boromir's favor, he and Faramir had continued the argument privately, for hours, and neither would acquiesce. It had ended at a stalemate when Boromir had excused himself to go prepare for his journey.

"Tomorrow you leave. Do you not want to see me tonight, knowing it may be long before we meet again? Shall I leave you be?" Faramir's expression was one of weariness only, but the reproach in his words was clear.

"I am sorry, Faramir," Boromir answered, though it wasn't clear whether he was apologizing for his angry words or for insisting on taking this mission. He had tried to tell Faramir why he felt he needed to be the one to go, and if Faramir had understood his reasons, he had deemed them insufficient. "I do want to see you." It was true. He did want to be with his brother tonight of all nights, but only if it was not to be a night spent in argument and bitterness. It would be hard enough to leave, much as he felt it was necessary, but he did not want to leave with Faramir angry with him. "And if you say you know me well enough to know I will not be swayed, may I say I know you well enough to know you will forgive me?" Boromir queried tentatively, searching Faramir's face for a reply in the silence that stretched. At length Faramir came to sit near him.

"Whether I would forgive you was never in doubt, nor is it the important question. I still don't think you should go. You will be needed here,"

"As will you!" Boromir muttered.

Faramir didn't even pause, but continued as if his brother had not interrupted. "…and I feel in my heart that I should be the one to undertake this journey. Still, if I cannot dissuade you, then I must help you prepare."

"I'm nearly done packing already. I must travel light." Boromir said.

"I wasn't talking about helping you pack."

"What else is there? You cannot advise me about which route I am to take; I know as much as you do, and there is not much to know."

"Nor that."

"What, then?"

"I thought you might want… well, of late all your time is spent in worry and uncertainty. I fear you will have enough of that in your journey. Were I the one to leave, I would want to enjoy today." Faramir's expression was guarded as he spoke these words, and Boromir tried to ignore the sure knowledge that Faramir resented that he would not be the one leaving. After a short silence, Faramir sighed and smiled faintly. "Come, brother, let us speak of something other than journeys and war and worries. It has been long since we had time to do so."

They were together the rest of the day and into the night. Their talk meandered from their earliest memories and happiest days to the hardships they had endured and worries they still shouldered, and how they had always relied upon each other when it seemed to be too much to bear. They laughed long over memories of mischief that they had gotten into- usually at Boromir's urging- in their youth, and fell silent when remembering old grief.

As the sun was sinking into the west, they went out to walk together, treading familiar paths through the upper levels of the city, passing old haunts with a shared, knowing glance. As they walked, Boromir relished the sound of his boots on the stone streets and walkways, and he absorbed the view of the city around them, cherishing all the little details that usually went unnoticed. The scents of the city alone! Sun-warmed stone cooling in the evening air, the aroma of roasted meats from somewhere nearby, an odor of ale and warm bodies as they passed the doors of an inn, a brief whiff of night-blooming flowers from a box hung in a window high above, the many mingled smells that were the marketplace, the faint and distant scent of hay and tilled earth from the farms of the Pelennor, and over it all the clear fresh air that flowed down from the snow-clad slopes of the White Mountains.

Around them as they walked, people strode homewards after their day's work, or hurried to complete an errand before dark. Boromir had lived his whole life here, and had loved the city and its people- his people!- during all that time, but these common sights were so much more precious now that he was leaving them. He had made his decision to leave in such haste, he had not fully considered that his journey would mean leaving behind all that he loved, his city and his people and his family. His eyes misted with love and devotion, and he realized that leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He truly did not want to leave! But he must… it was too important. He looked up to see Faramir eyeing him with a pained expression much like the one he had worn as they argued all that day, and Boromir guessed that his brother knew his thoughts. He gave a little sighing shrug as they turned to head homewards.

They ate together, with their father and no others, that night. Denethor had not truly wanted to allow Boromir to go; by all accounts, Imladris was far, and the journey would be dangerous. But he also saw that the riddle of the dream needed answering, and Boromir had argued to take the journey himself so convincingly that his father could not deny him.

At the end of the evening, the tension between the brothers had dissolved as if it had never been.

"There. Now you will have a pleasant memory to hold close, when home and hope seem far," Faramir said as they paused in the quiet hallway before turning in.

"I have a lifetime of them already," Boromir said with a grin, "but thank you."

Faramir had turned towards his own door when Boromir stopped him with a tentative hand on his arm. "You will wake, to see me off in the morning?"

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it," Faramir answered.

Boromir was content, and slept well that night, the last night he would spend in Minas Tirith.


End file.
